Christmas Tradition
by bethalaina
Summary: For several years now, on Christmas day, she had gazed up into the branches at the colors, often with Viktor beside her.


A/N: Written and posted on my LJ in December 2006. I was feeling Christmasy and thought I'd upload some more old Christmas fic in addition to "A Christmas Wish".

Hermione lay under the Christmas tree, staring up into the lights, lost in memories that sparkled in her thoughts like the lights dancing off of the shiny glass balls on the tree. For several years now, on Christmas day, she had gazed up into the branches at the colors, often with Viktor beside her. The smell of evergreen never failed to draw her back to their Christmas tradition, and the memories that came of it.

The first time they had gazed up into the tree branches had been the night of the Yule Ball, back when she was fifteen. That night had been such a turmoil of emotions, so many feelings dumped into a cauldron and stirred until she was full of tension, and, simultaneously, full of wonder. She had been amazed at the way Viktor had made her feel, like a lady, like she was beautiful, like the night couldn't possibly hold more magic than he created in her. And then, she had fought with Ron, and found herself full of rage—so much anger that she couldn't help but cry. She had plopped down on the steps and cried with fury.

And then Viktor had come and sat down beside her—she thought he'd gone back to the Durmstrang ship—and took her hand. "Hermy-own-ninny," he'd asked anxiously, "vhat matter is? Vhat I do? How I fix?" She had smiled at him and the desperation in his voice to make sure nothing hurt her, and told him that he wasn't the problem; he was the best thing about the night. She had briefly explained about Ron being angry with her, and the flash of jealousy in his eyes had made her feel wanted. Viktor had cupped her face, a cheek in each big palm, and wiped the tears away.

"Come," he said, rising off the step and taking her hand. "I vant show you something." Leaving her uncomfortable shoes right there on the stairs (she hoped no one had tripped while they were gone) they ran, hand-in-hand, to an empty wall. He had stopped, turned to face her, and took both of her hands in his. "Now, vhat I show you is secret. Your headmaster, he show me, because I need help vith homevork, and Karkaroff not understand that. But I know you vill…vhat is vord?" He paused and thought a moment. "Appreciate? You vill appreciate it. So I show you. Vill make you much happy, I think." He gently kicked the bottom stone in the wall with his foot, and then pulled her through the wall.

They were standing in the back of the library, in the dusty, seldom-used Muggle literature section. Hermione gasped and looked up at him. Why had Harry never told her about this? It had to be on his Marauder's Map. Of course, she couldn't picture Harry looking for a secret way into the library, but she had been really disappointed when the staff started locking it at night. She grinned at Viktor and squeezed his hand. "It does! Thank you!"

"Is not all I vish show you. Come on."

He led her to the front of the library, where the big Christmas tree was. A string of magical lights twinkled, along with a few live fairies dancing on the branches. She thought it might be playing soft music, too; then she realized that those fairies were actually singing. "It's so beautiful, in the dark like this," she whispered.

"_You_ are beautiful, sveetheart," Viktor murmured back, and she tore her eyes from the tree to gaze into his dark ones. He smiled softly; she wondered if this was what falling in love felt like.

"Vill you lie under tree vith me?" he asked. She wasn't sure she'd heard him right, so she just sort of smiled. He lay under the tree, looking up into the lights. She _had_ heard him correctly. Why did he want to lie under the tree? A thought, a naughty thought, popped into her head. Oh, Merlin—he wasn't thinking of—was he? But no, a little voice chided. She was with _Viktor_. He wouldn't expect that. Not so soon, not like this, not with her. He knew her better. _She _knew _him_ better.

Making up her mind to trust him—a decision that, unbeknownst to her that night, would last all her life—Hermione slid down beside him under the tree. He reached for her hand, cradling it in his own, and started to whisper.

"Ever since I vas little boy, I alvays sneaked down to tree late at night on Christmas. I loff to vatch lights and think of dreams I haff." He smiled, a soft, sweet smile that made Hermione's heart tap-dance. "I never share vith anyvone before, never tell anyvone. Although vonce, vhen I vas four, my mother find me under tree sleeping next morning. But you are first I lie under tree vith, first I vant to know about it." Her heart beat faster as his turned his face so his cheek lay against the thick velvet of the tree skirt, his lips only a couple of centimeters away from hers. His eyes, black with the reflection of the lights mixing with swirling emotions, gazed into hers with an intimacy she had never felt with a boy—a man—before. Softly, slowly, his warm lips caught hers in a timid, gentle first kiss.

Hermione remembered the hours they had spent that night, lying under that tree, sharing dreams, sharing secrets. Ever since that night, she had known that no one would ever understand her heart the way Viktor did. The next Christmas, her fifth year, she had been at Grimmauld Place, but she had crept downstairs late when everyone was asleep. She had lain beneath the Christmas tree with her quill and parchment, gazing at the lights and writing him a long letter full of dreams and hopes and wishes. Two days later, she had gotten his owl and discovered that Viktor had done the very same thing.

She had spent the following Christmas at her parents' house, and Viktor had come to visit for a few days. He would have spent Christmas alone, otherwise. His parents had gone Dark; he was alone and hurting. They had spent that night lying under the tree; he told her all of his fears, all of his demons. Her heart ached for him as she held him while he wept, the first time she saw him cry. They stayed beneath the electrical lights—so unlike the singing fairies from the Yule Ball and the library tree—until the sun rose and Viktor decided to remain in England and join the Order.

The next Christmas, the year Hermione was eighteen, she had gone to Viktor's tiny apartment to spend the holiday. She had been exhausted from her efforts in the war; so had he. Each had needed the comfort of each other's arms, a day without a battle or a death or bad news, just one day with only happiness, and laughter, and the warmth of their love. They were so seldom alone, so rarely allowed to relax and just be with one another. But that day, Christmas day, was perfect, and it could not possibly have ended in a better way.

That Christmas, Viktor made love to her for the first time with the lights dancing over their skin.

Tonight, Hermione sighed with the memory, her eyes closing at the timid way Viktor had touched her that night, the nervous look in his eyes…and the passion they had built together. She remembered his tongue on her stomach and his hands in her hair, the fierce combustion that had begun that night and remained every time they touched. She listened for the sound of the shower running and wished it would stop. She closed her eyes and thought back to the next Christmas.

The war had been over. They had gotten a different apartment, not much bigger, but it was their first home together. The carpet had been so worn and shabby that Viktor had thrown three blankets over it so that they would have enough cushioning to lie under the tree. That tree skirt had been cheap, scratchy against her face. Viktor had felt guilty at not providing a better home; she had laughed. She was proud of him for quitting Quidditch; he had given up something he loved to fight for the Order. Now he was working as a Ministry ambassador to Bulgaria, but it would be awhile before either of them made much money. She didn't care. He loved her, and that was what mattered, not how scratchy the tree skirt was.

The next year he had proudly shown her a new tree skirt, although the carpet hadn't improved much. And now, this year, they had managed to make a down payment on their first real house. It was perfect, a house for forever, for a family and love and laughter. A house for life.

Footsteps drew Hermione out of her memories, and she smiled at Viktor as he padded barefoot across the plush carpet and lay down beside her, reaching for her hand like he always did under the tree. The lights and the fairies in the tree reflected on the water droplets in his hair, and the chocolate of his eyes.

"Vhat vere you thinking, sveetheart?" he whispered.

"About the new house and the future. About our Christmases, too."

His eyes smiled at her. "I think maybe Christmas is more special to us than to others."

"Probably."

"I vant to make it more special, too." He looked up into the tree, and one of the fairies drifted down off of a branch to settle in his hand, and he took a shining ring from her before she twittered back up.

Hermione felt her heart thudding in her throat as Viktor pulled her closer to him. His voice was choked with emotion when he spoke, "I loff you. I haff loffed you for so long, through so much. I know vithout a doubt that every Christmas for rest of my life vill be spent under some Christmas tree, somevhere, vith your hand in mine, and the colors of the lights dancing in your hair. Say you vill marry me, loff. Make me happier than I already am to be under this tree vith you tonight." He lifted her hand and slid the ring onto it. The diamond caught the twinkling lights and sent them shining in rays around the room. Viktor didn't wait for her to answer before he kissed her; he didn't need to.

They both knew that there was nowhere she would rather spend all of her Christmases than under the tree with him.


End file.
